


Sweet dreams turn into coffee

by Everyskyisblue



Series: Coffee series [2]
Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017), Call Me By Your Name - All Media Types, Call Me by Your Name - André Aciman
Genre: Coffee, Coffee Shops, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-28
Updated: 2018-05-28
Packaged: 2019-05-14 20:19:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14776601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Everyskyisblue/pseuds/Everyskyisblue
Summary: Oliver runs a lot, Elio spends a lot of time at the park, and they both drink a lot of coffee.





	Sweet dreams turn into coffee

**Author's Note:**

> After writing a short fic for the CMBYN 10 Minute Challenge, I couldn't help but get back to more coffee and the boys, preferably all in one longer fic. 
> 
> While this work isn't related to the previous fic at all - it was RPF (Armie/Timmy) and this is Oliver/Elio), they do have coffee in common, hence the Coffee series ;)

Oliver hasn’t always liked running. He played sports in high school and was quite active as a kid but mostly in team sports. He enjoyed spending time by himself but his parents insisted on him taking part in group activities so basketball it was. It also helped that he was so tall and rather naturally athletic as a teenager.

As he grew older, he began to embrace moments of solitude, even the short ones. He still played basketball or soccer once in a while, when his group of friends managed to find the time to meet. It was harder with all of them working different jobs and having different schedules. So he took up running.

Every Tuesday morning, he would run through the nearby park before he had to go teach his 11am class. It wasn’t empty at that time but not too crowded either. As he ran, he observed groups of friends lying on the grass, engaged in discussions or just listening to music, couples kissing, entangled together on blankets in the morning sun. And a lone figure sitting under a tree, headphones in his ears, drinking coffee from a local café, and drawing or writing something in a notebook.

The dark-haired man was there every Tuesday when Oliver would go for his run. Just as all the people in the park changed and varied each week, he was always there, engrossed in whatever he was doing, rarely looking up. But when he did, Oliver couldn’t help but slow down a bit, just to be able to observe him for a little longer. Then the man would go back to looking into his notebook, sipping his coffee, and Oliver had to pick up the pace if he didn’t want to be late for his lecture.

Sometimes his thoughts lingered on the man but, by the time he was making his way to the university building, he would usually go over the lecture he had planned in his head.

As he walked home, he typically picked up his afternoon coffee from the university café. It wasn’t the best quality but it did the job of injecting him with extra energy, much needed after his morning class. Today, however, he managed to finish early as all they were discussing were the mid-terms results, so he felt like switching up his routine and indulging in better coffee for once. He stopped by his neighborhood café which, almost coincidentally, was where the man from the park always got his coffee from. In the back of his head, he knew it wasn’t quite a coincidence but it’s not like he was hoping to see him here, he thought. It was perfectly innocent and normal. As he walked back home, his thoughts drifted to the man again, and his notebook; Oliver was curious what was inside.

Next Tuesday, Oliver went for his morning run as usual. He ran past groups of friends and couples on their blankets, as usual. But when he got to the tree where the dark-haired man usually sat, he stopped suddenly stopped. The man wasn’t there. It took him a moment to compose himself and get back to running. So what that he isn’t here, he thought. It’s not like he has any obligation to. It’s not like they ever agreed to meet here on Tuesday mornings. Oliver was just so used to it, as a part of his routine. Was that why he felt so disappointed? It’s not like he wanted to or waited to see the man. Yet, a part of his brain supplied, to some extent he did. He continued to his usual running route and then walked to his morning lecture but he still couldn’t shake the feeling of disappointment.

This Tuesday, Oliver finished class at 3pm, just as usual. Everything except for a small part of this morning was as usual, he thought, but then chose to disregard it before his thoughts spiraled in the same direction again. He felt out of sorts still and decided to get his afternoon coffee at the neighborhood café again today. Maybe, probably, he was subconsciously looking for opportunities to see the man again, but he chose to let go of that thought too. He made his way there, strangely determined.

“For here or to go?”, the barista asked.

Oliver was distracted from his thoughts.

“Sorry?” he asked the girl behind the counter who was looking at his expectantly.

“Your americano, is it for here or to go?”

“Um… For here, please,” he decided, surprising himself, since he didn’t plan on staying. But, in the spur of the moment, he figured he might as well sit down and grade some papers, which he would have to do at home anyway. After a moment, the coffee was brought to his table. He thanked the girl, who gave him a bright smile in return, and continued to observe the people walking outside, from his seat next to the window.

He wasn’t waiting for the dark-haired man, he told himself. He was just here to grade papers; he didn’t always need to do it from his living room. He actually enjoyed being surrounded by other people’s quiet conversations, despite spending most of his days at the university, where the students chatted loudly all the time. He must have gotten used to it over the years since it didn’t bother him anymore. And so he got engrossed in his work, ordered another americano, and continued to write comments on his students’ papers.

A little while later, after he went through over half of what he needed to correct that day, he took a break, stretching a bit in his chair. He wasn’t waiting for him, he told himself again, he really wasn’t. He wasn’t hoping the man would magically happen to show up here on the same random day as he did today. After all, his routine was to get coffee at this café in the mornings. _But he wasn’t in the park this morning_ , his mind helpfully supplied, _so maybe he also didn’t get his usual brew yet. Maybe he was still going to._ Or maybe he wasn’t, Oliver thought, maybe he was out of town or stopped getting his coffee here altogether, maybe he found another café. No longer determined as he was on his way here, Oliver cleaned up his papers, put them into his backpack and got up to leave. And as he was getting up and swinging the backpack onto one shoulder, he hit something. Or rather, someone.

Convinced he wouldn’t see the dark-haired man today, Oliver was so surprised to literally bump into him that he stood there for a long moment, his mouth slightly open, just staring at him. Up close, he could see the man’s face in a lot more detail; his full, cherry-colored lips, sharp jaw, and curly hair that fell into his green eyes, which struck him as impossibly bright and which were looking right into his own. That woke Oliver up.

“So sorry, man.” Oliver heard the apology directed at him and, instead of apologizing as well, he just shrugged, still holding the man’s gaze.

“No worries,” he said instead, flustered.

The man continued to look him straight in the eye for a little while longer, even gave him a small smile, as if to tell him, _it’s alright_ , and then turned around and left. Oliver swore he could see him smirk as he was turning, which left him confused. When the man left, Oliver finally put on his backpack, waited another minute, and left as well, making sure to go in the opposite direction, even though it meant walking around the block instead of heading straight towards his apartment.

 _I didn’t even apologize_ , he couldn’t help but think. And he was the one who bumped into the man with _his_ backpack. _Stupid_ , he kept thinking as he opened the door to his apartment, dumped his things onto the table and practically crashed into the sofa. He rubbed his jaw, constantly replaying the short encounter at the café. He couldn’t get the man’s eyes out of his head.


End file.
